


I'm of sound mind; my answer is yes, I love that man of mine.

by Ultronerd



Category: Beetlejuice (1988)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:50:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2696969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultronerd/pseuds/Ultronerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beetlejuice is a little shit and this is a one-shot. It was intended as a halloween thing but it's November lol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm of sound mind; my answer is yes, I love that man of mine.

This guy will actually be the death of you. 

"Fucking _hell_ , Beetlejuice!" You growl under your breath as you throw the tablecloth onto one of the surfaces you had been cleaning.  
He had shown up at work. Again. The only reason it makes you mad is because work is alone-time. The work isn't that stressful, just a small café in your home town, so it serves as calm, relaxation time before you go back home to your slightly insane husband. You can listen to your music through one headphone as you carry out all of your jobs and serve customers, and it's nice. But Beetle only comes when he wants something, and so his presence immediately aggravates you and rouses suspicion. It doesn't help that he appears out of thin air, then proceeds to grope you from behind.  
You don't know why he does it. It's not like your work is particularly interesting, not compared to his. But hey, at least he's put on cologne and isn't wearing some circus suit like usual. That doesn't mean he's welcome, mind you.  


Shoving the door open to the staff room, you go and make yourself a coffee with one of the shitty espresso machines (really, cant they just let you use the proper ones?) and wait. It takes three seconds for him to pop up beside you out of thin air. You don't jump. You just set your jaw and stare at the white mug filling with deep brown liquid, watching the steam swirl from it in intricate patterns before dissipating.  


"Hey, babe, what'cha doing?" Asks the man beside you, pressing his mouth to your cheek in a little kiss, cocky grin in place. You mentally thank yourself for making him look a little more presentable - the mould and yellow teeth really don't work for you, and now he looks mostly human. The kiss doesn't phase you, though, and your eyes stay focussed on your drink as you move past your husband to pour milk in, accidentally setting the cup down a little too roughly in your passive aggression; the hot liquid spills over the rim, making you hiss as it burns your skin. You wipe it on the apron around your waist, glaring pointedly at Beetlejuice as you go to the little sink, washing your hand under cold water. He stays silent.  


It lasts five seconds. Five blissful seconds of no idiotic comments, inhuman sounds or massive snakes.  


"Hey, babe, why are you ignoring me, huh? I thought we had something! I thought you loved me!" He exclaimed, popping up next to you again with your coffee in hand, sipping at it, then setting it down quickly. Sadly, he doesn't burn himself. Instead, he reaches over and squeezes your butt and, in response, you whirl and smack his hand.  


It falls off.  


So you pick it up and hit Beetle around the face with it, scowl set in place.  


"I told you not to pick me up from work anymore." You say as his cheek swells to a ridiculous red colour, pointing at him with his own hand. Evidently, he is trying to gain your sympathy, but it's not working. You've become practically immune to his tricks. "Stop that." You add in a scathing tone, and immediately his face is back to normal.  


"I wanted to see you, babe! My beautiful little sexy babe..." Your husband scoops you close to him, arms tight around your waist, trapping your arms as his grey eyes look into yours. You immediately squirm, but he's unnaturally strong and you cant budge an inch. His hand also disappears from your grip, and he seems to have grown another one. "Also, I'm pretty sure you hitting me counts as abuse."  


"What do you want, Beetle?" You ask in a whine, determined not to give into his attempted charm. He doesn't reply, just ducks his head to kiss you.  


You thank your lucky stars that his breath does not taste like rotting corpses anymore.  


You try not to kiss back, but you cant help yourself. Literally. You cant. He's forcing your mouth to open with his powers so that he can push his tongue around yours, your arms looping around his neck, this time of their own accord. There isn't much point fighting it, not when he's such a horribly good kisser.  


"Beetlejuice..." You breathe when he pulls away, your cheeks flushed slightly and your hands moving to rest on his shoulders, brushing the material of his suit down. Your expression becomes stern once more, "tell me what you're trying to get."  


He has the nerve to look insulted, eyes widening in mock-horror, "I can't kiss my wife? What kind of world is this?! I just wanted to kiss you, babe."  


Your silence is enough to make his false expression drop and his arms tighten around your waist. "Fine. I'm meeting up with some guys tonight and I want you to meet them."  


"I call bullshit." You say, to which he replies with a gasp of, "if you would have said that in my day, you wou-" 

"You only want me there so you can brag about having a wife who's fully consenting. And alive. Don't you?" You interrupt, folding your arms across your chest, despite the fact that you two are pressed close together. Beetle starts spluttering, but you know it's all an act, and you can't help but allow yourself a little smile, raising a hand to brush through his tamed hair.  


"If you fix the burn on my hand, then yes, I'll go with you. And if you let me shower without watching. And no more snakes."  
He agrees reluctantly, fixing your hand (after 'accidentally' setting off a few fireworks in the process), and you reach up on your toes to give him a quick kiss as thanks before pushing him away and untying your apron from behind your back, folding it and shoving it into your bag, then pushing your cup into the washing up bowl. You lock up the shop, unaware of the spider-filled fridge or the snakes curling around the chairs inside. You later find out, on Monday, when it's in the local news, and summon your husband immediately to yell at him. But hey, at least it's not your shift and therefore not your problem.


End file.
